The Resistance
by Koboldlord
Summary: Earth is fallen. Aliens rule the planet. The shattered remains of XCOM must united with other resistance forces and take back the planet. Commander Frost has his work cut out for him as the aliens won't go quietly. A WOTC novelization with plenty of original content and characters.
1. Twenty Years of Hell

"_I can honestly say it was like a dream. Actually it was more like a really twisted nightmare. The dreams are usually bad but reality is so much worse. Sometimes I pray that I'm still dreaming that way at least I can wake up."-XCOM Central Office John Bradford, on the run April 9'th 2018._

* * *

**Somewhere beneath the Appalachian Mountains USA: XCOM HQ**

"Sir! We've got massive power fluctuations all across the board! Our defenses are offline!" The young technician failed to keep any trace of panic from his voice, shouting loudly enough that every member of XCOM could hear him. He could have saved himself the trouble though as the blaring alarms were more than enough to alert anyone across the massive underground base that something was indeed horribly wrong.

John Bradford moved briskly across the room, trying not to run and failing. Everything was happening too fast. How could it have gone so wrong so fast? "What's the cause?" He asked keeping his voice even, as any good officer would in a moment of crisis. It didn't come easy.

"Unknown, unless…" The technician began sifting through diagnostics at inhuman speeds, eyes blazing across the computer screens in an attempt to give Bradford any answer. Central needed to know what was going on and he needed to know now.

_In a minute the entire building will shake, it's coming from the Delta quadrant. The technician will tell me_ _we've been hit with an EMP. It's an attack. It's THE attack._

As if on cue, a rumbling shook the base, dropping dust and flakes of concrete across the various monitors and staff. Another muffled sound, frighteningly like an explosion, echoed throughout the command center, shaking the room again.

_How the hell did I know that?_

"Sir, we've been hit with an EMP!" The technician shouted. Leaning forward, he screamed at any nearby colleague, "Get me a sit-rep on our backup generator! Now!"

"The back up generator is holding steady but she's taking a pounding!" A female command technician shouted back, "We've got multiple breaches in delta!"

Bradford's heart fell. "It's an all out assault. The aliens have finally found us." He keyed in his headset, speaking firmly into the microphone, "Central to Commander Frost. Commander Frost, we're under attack, this is not a drill. I repeat, not a drill."

_He won't respond. Everything is static. They're jamming communication._

Unfortunately, everything in his ear was static, garbled transmissions, broken up by the occasional screams coming from Delta. It was all happening so fast. Without Frost…

"We've lost our connection to most of the base!" The young technician announced, rather too late for Bradford's purposes. "The cause could be anything! I'm only getting Delta channel!" The Delta band was garbled, barely understandable. Constant explosions rippling across the airwaves added to the confusion.

Tapping his headset to try and key-in the frequency, John spoke crisply, "This Central. Delta, respond, someone, anyone, respond!" His orders went momentarily unanswered.

Faintly he could hear someone scream, "Oh God! They've found us! The aliens are in the base!"

_Thunder Dundak is going to get on the horn and confirm this is an invasion. You're going to commandeer two security personal to accompany you in an attempt to reach the Commander's quarters._

He tapped the headset again furiously, "Delta! Respond! What the hell's happening over there?"

This time his question was answered. "This is Lieutenant Dundak," The heavily accented voice of the Polish heavy crackled across the airwaves. Thunder, it seemed, had managed to establish a link to central command. "I can confirm we have been invaded. Aliens are pouring into the Delta quadrant." He paused, the sound of his belt-fed machine gun firing eerily distorted by the weak connection. An inhuman shriek suggested the big Pole had hit his target. "Sergeant Ben-David and myself are attempting to hold them here, but we will be overrun. Put every sector on high alert."

Bradford didn't even give the order before the code red alarm blazed to life, drowning out every other noise echoing from the loud speakers. "All hands to battle stations," a woman calmly announced, "All hands to battle stations. This is not a drill, delta quadrant has been breached."

Bradford couldn't wait, they needed Commander Frost if there was going to be any chance of surviving this. XCOM had existed this long by the skin of its teeth thanks to the man's brilliant tactical leadership, yet it hadn't been enough. There were too many aliens, too many variables, not enough time.

Slamming his fist against the emergency release on a nearby console, Bradford withdrew the hidden pistol from its storage, slipping a fresh magazine into place. Flicking the safety off, Bradford motioned to two nearby security personal, "You two, with me. We'll bring the Commander here ourselves." Turning his attention to the only actual XCOM soldier on guard at the command center he ordered, "Sergeant Hahn? Hold this position! No alien steps through that door!"

Graff Hahn pumped his shotgun once, "Ja! Herr Bradford!" The situation was proving tense enough for the sergeant to slip back into his native German. Even a veteran was on edge, not a good sign. Bradford and the security men made their way towards the door, heading for the lift to take them up to Commander Frost's quarters.

_You aren't going to make it. The door will explode inward; aliens will rush the command center. Sergeant Graff Hahn dies first._

Bradford was halfway towards the door when it rocketed inward in an explosion so deafening his hearing momentarily vanished. His body slammed into the ground, driving the wind from battered lungs as small bits of shrapnel slashed across his head and chest, tearing his sweater and flesh. Hot blood ran down his face while he struggled to maintain consciousness. He'd struck his head against the ground in the fall and now it throbbed, beating against his skull like a drum.

The source of the explosion became obvious as, a moment later, a large Muton came bounding through the opening. The massive alien raised his plasma rifle towards the prone Bradford, murderous intent clear in inhuman eyes.

Yet the kill shot never came.

A booming echoed throughout the command center over the din of the battle. Graff Hahn's shot struck the militant alien directly in the side of its unarmored face, a rare weak point on the creature. It collapsed with a muffled howl, dead or mortally wounded. For his trouble, Sergeant Hahn caught a plasma burst, vaporizing the man's chest, the solitary shot, punching through his Kevlar armor like paper. The German looked down, momentarily shocked that he'd actually been hit before crumpling into an immobile heap.

A second Muton was responsible, stepping gingerly over his brother's corpse, firing indiscriminately into the technicians. The man who'd give the initial reading fell screaming as the shot took off his arm.

A prone Bradford returned fire, shooting his pistol at the massive alien soldier. "Hold this position! Hold your ground! We can't lose the command center!"

Several bullets struck the Muton in the legs, causing a cry of pain but little actual damage. Bradford's clip ran dry, the chilling click of the empty pistol followed by the large alien's rush across the command center. Mutons continued firing into the unarmed technicians with base security returning fire as best they could while a third and forth Muton made their way through the smoldering ruins of the door.

With obvious contempt, the Muton kicked Central Officer Bradford in the head, driving the man into unconsciousness.

* * *

**The wilderness of the Canadian Sector: Outside Jacksonville, a Shantytown near New Vancouver**

The pain in his head was real, the result of a particularly nasty bump in the road slamming him against the humvee's metal walls. Bradford swore violently, rubbing his hand against the fresh bruise already forming along the side of his head. The last thing his hangover, even one as mild as this, needed was company.

"Watch out old man," Jan "Dutchie" Peters announced rather too late, "Your local Advent work crews don't make it out this far. Road gets bumpy ahead." The grin spreading across the old Dutchman's face could only be described as "shit-eating," his one good eye gleaming mischievously.

"I'm only five years your senior, smartass," Central grumbled back at the driver, earning nothing but laughter from Captain Peters.

Bradford caught a glimpse of himself in the humvee's rearview mirror and sighed internally. The years hadn't been kind to Central Officer John Bradford. His face was a mess of wrinkles and scar tissue, hair gone from mahogany brown to slate grey, a permanent five o'clock stubble refusing to leave even if he put the razor to it, which admittedly he did rarely these days. At fifty-five, he'd been through hell. Some days he thought he literally was in hell.

_I doubt the boozing helped._

Still, judging by the nightmare, a memory he'd rather forget but had seen over and over in his mind, he'd not had quite enough of the bootlegged whisky he needed to make it through the day.

It had been twenty years since the alien invasion, little over nineteen and a half since the base had fallen and XCOM died. The council withdrew its support before disbanding entirely. Small resistance groups continued across the planet but XCOM was broken, little more than guerillas and poorly funded ones at that. Without Victor Frost, the mysterious commander sent by the council, everything went to hell.

They'd gone on the run, striking where they could, but his troops splintered or died off, leaving him with few soldiers from those days still loyal to the name XCOM. A handful of veterans and crazy recruits had barely made a dint in Advent, the new government the invaders had established after earth's resistance had been officially crushed. A new government for a new world order twenty years in the making.

Still Bradford fought on, and still he looked for opportunities to hurt Advent. There was one way, one pipe dream that he held onto, the Commander himself. Despite the chaos of XCOM's fall, reports reached him that the aliens had taken the Commander for some purpose. Shen doubted those rumors, but Bradford couldn't let himself do the same, he didn't have the luxury of doubt.

"I wish we could have taken the Skyranger," Bradford mumbled, rubbing his blurry eyes with the back of a weathered hand, "It's been too damn long since I rode in one of these old buckets."

"Central, you're the one who said we need to go into Jacksonville all quiet like," Dutchie noted with only minimal sarcasm.

"If Kelly's contact is as good as she implied it'll be worth it."

"One can hope."

Jan Peters was starting to fray at the seams, but there were few men John trusted more. Ever since rookie base security officer Peters had saved Bradford's life during the chaotic final moments as their HQ burned, the Dutchman had been at Central's beck and call. XCOM could claim only a few survivors of the original organization still bunking aboard the flightless Avenger, but Peters was one of them. His left eye was milky white and covered with a patch, the pupil burned away during a close encounter with Advent peacekeepers, low-level soldiers that were everywhere in the city centers. Jan's once proud Mohawk had been buzzed down next to nothing, while a droopy salt and pepper handle-bar moustache proved at least somewhere the man had hair. Jan was a mess of tattoos, arms a tangle of names and serial numbers belonging to fallen comrades, XCOM's old logo on the back of his hands, making loyalties clear. Bradford didn't feel the same need for ornamentation. Maybe it was the old soldier still alive in his battered frame, demanding some degree of professionalism.

"Quite the place isn't it?" Dutchie commented as the humvee drew closer to Jacksonville, the shantytown looking anything but inviting. Once again, Bradford found himself stunned by the vast difference between the gleaming city centers Advent had constructed over the ruins of earth's greatest cities and the towns of the wilderness. Inside the city centers loyal citizens had food, employment and shelter. They had security, entertainment, and gene-therapy that could treat almost any medical condition, or so he'd been told. They only thing those brilliant white cities lacked was true freedom. That and any sense of personality, if you saw one city center you'd seen them all. Advent had been extremely careful to eliminate rallying points of the old world. No CN Towers no Statues of Liberty. New New York was almost identical to New Bombay and New Sydney and that was how the aliens liked it.

In theory Advent tolerated the numerous shantytowns that sprung up in the areas on the outskirts of the city centers. They rarely sent troops to patrol them and, despite encouraging folks to move into the city centers for their own benefit via billboards, TV advertisements and something resembling missionaries, never seemed to force the issue. However, Bradford had heard enough rumors, and seen enough with his own eyes, to doubt their benevolence. In spite of Advent's continually increasing pressure, many shantytowns were centers for one resistance force or another.

Jacksonville was typical of the shantytowns, built beneath the crumbling ruins of an old overpass. Dilapidated buildings made from reclaimed steel and plywood, old neon signs or Christmas lights glowing pitifully in the darkness of the wilderness as garbage fires burned for both heat and illumination. Several ghostly figures moved around the upper and lower levels, never standing still for long. With the wilderness being home to plenty of bandits, raiders and monsters it was hard to fault their caution. Bradford noted at least one sniper watching them from the overhead pass, the long-haired man standing above the old shipping container serving as his home.

Jan parked the military vehicle outside the village limits, killing the engine. "Looks like fog's rolling in, could be acid rain." Peters fetched his assault rifle, double checked the magazine was in place before slinging the weapon over his shoulder.

"I hope not, that's the last thing we need." The aliens had done more than simply devastate any resistance, plenty of areas outside those city centers were absolutely destroyed by the conflict. That led to the tricky part, getting the shantytown close enough to take advantage of whatever technology Advent had installed to keep them safe from the worst weather effects but far enough to maintain the independence that drove people to live in these scrap piles in the first place.

Bradford rolled his shoulders, feeling the comforting weight of the blade on his back. The multipurpose rifle he'd lovingly built himself was loaded and within easy reach; if the locals wanted trouble the XCOM veterans could give it to them.

"Shall we?" Dutchie asked with a smile, throwing open the humvee's door and stepping into the fog. With a grunt of agreement, Bradford followed him. Both men were dressed in nondescript clothing, trying to conceal their loyalties in case of traitors or informants. There was no knowing how many spies Advent had in their employ but resistance intelligence suggested hundreds, if not thousands. Still, as a chill rushed through the air, Bradford wished he'd brought a thicker coat.

From his perch above, the sniper watched both men enter Jacksonville but did nothing. They obviously weren't aliens and if they were bandits they wouldn't have walked through the front gate. Still, Bradford knew they'd been marked.

"Where'd Kelly say we'd meet this guy again?" Jan asked in a hushed voice, trying to avoid the attention of a band of raggedy looking people gathered around a trashcan fire. They were armed with simple blades and handguns though Bradford knew he'd be more suspicious if they weren't. Anyone traveling outside controlled areas without protection was crazy, suicidal or probably something worse.

"She mentioned the local watering hole. Some place called 'Paradise.'" He wrinkled his nose as a particularly foul smell wafted across the breeze. "If it's here, I doubt it's as nice as the name suggests."

It wasn't.

Paradise, as it turned out, was a cleverly constructed two story building. It was certainly haphazard and ramshackle but undoubtedly sturdy. Its base layer was solid concrete, suggesting it had been erected over the bones of some old home as rickety wooden stairs led into a bustling taproom. The plywood walls and broken glass windows gave the two veterans a fairly clear look inside, the standard affair full of salvaged or homemade tables and chairs, illuminated by candles and battery power lights. A long bar took up the rear, behind which was undoubtedly a still producing whatever homebrew the Paradise's owner served the gaunt residents of Jacksonville. To ensure any visitor knew the name of the shantytown's only bar a cardboard sign above the door read, "Paradise" in shoddily drawn letters while a garish neon arrow, likely looted or stolen, pointed towards the much smaller piece of cardboard.

"Charming." Jan wrinkled his nose, clearly less than impressed with the established.

"It's where this contact is supposed to be," Bradford reminded the solider, "So that's where we're going."

_All the same I'm not drinking the water._

The two men approached slowly, ensuring the large bouncer noted their arrival.

"Don't make trouble," the man growled from beneath a crudely manufactured metal helmet, doing his best to intimidate the armed men with his calculated stare and folded arms.

"No intentions on that front," Bradford responded honestly. This was a get in, get out, kind of mission.

The bouncer slid aside and the pair entered through the saloon-style doors. The Paradise interior was remarkably busy considering the small size of the town, with most tables occupied by rough looking individuals deep in their cups. Bradford ignored all of them until his eyes landed on the person he was looking for.

Jane "Banshee" Kelly unlike Dutchie and Bradford wasn't a survivor of the original XCOM, though she'd been with the men for so long she might as well have been. Kelly had led a small resistance cell named The Children of Earth and, while most of her comrades had been killed, Bradford managed to pull her out of the fire and she'd been with XCOM ever since.

Though in her late thirties and a veteran both as leader of a resistance cell and the war against Advent, age hadn't seemed to quite catch up with the Irishwoman. Her hair was red as ever, pulled into a long ponytail sticking through the back of her green "Kiss me I'm Irish" baseball cap. Cold blue eyes started out across the room above a Roman nose and unscarred face. The sleeveless jacket she wore revealed both her tattoos, elaborate white etchings of the ghostly women of Celtic myth the ranger took for her call sign. She sat comfortably, sawed-off shotgun on her back and a pistol at her hip, looking entirely collected. The contact, on the other hand, was not.

The man was less than half Bradford's age, at most mid twenties. A bright red toque was pulled low over hair that, judging from the simple beard on the man's face, was brown. His eyes were hidden behind aviators though a large burn was visible across a good portion of his right cheek. His clothes were obviously non-military, consisting of a flannel shirt and cargo pants with far too many pockets. A cigar was clenched tightly, too tightly, between his teeth as he obviously tried to keep from fidgeting with the tablet he was holding in his hands. Overall he didn't exactly seem XCOM material but Jane's judgment had repeatedly proven sound in the past so Bradford tried to keep his mind open.

The two empty chairs across from the duo provided a clear invitation and they sat down without a word. The barman was instantly present at the table, refusing to leave until both Bradford and Jan had a dirty glass full of moonshine and were a few bucks poorer for it.

Once the civilian was out of earshot, Kelly made the introductions. "Central, Dutchie, this is Toby Edwards, a civilian hacker, a good one."

"I prefer to go by Sparky," the hacker stated with far too much fake gusto for Bradford's liking. Still, by focusing on a code name it showed he was at least smart enough to try and keep his identity hidden.

"And this guy has information that can change the whole war?" Dutchie inquired with some obvious sarcasm, narrowing his good eye on the much younger man.

"Yes and no," Toby answered as honestly as he could. Despite the aviators doing their best to hide his expression it was clear he was nervous about his odds if he angered the XCOM forces. Turning the tablet around, Toby flicked it to life. A string of data ran across the small screen almost faster than Bradford's eyes could follow. The numbers were accompanied by the Advent gibberish his best people had still been unable to crack. "What we're seeing here is a package of data that's being rotated around the Advent network. It's classified at their highest level of encryption and marked with every kind of top secret label and protection that Advent knows about."

"So what's in it?" Bradford probed cautiously, anything that Advent felt worthy of such high protection was worth his time.

"I don't know." The hacker sounded utterly dejected, finally letting the cigar fall from his mouth and land on the table without comment. Dutchie raised an eyebrow at this and Jane winced. Still, Kelly was clearly aware of this setback as she motioned for Sparky to continue. "I couldn't crack this if you gave me a hundred years, not without help."

"I thought you said you were good." Bradford made his disappointment with Toby obvious. He quickly followed that comment with a sip of the moonshine, itself an almost equally large disappointment.

Finally Sparky showed a bit of backbone. "I am good." There was no false bravado in the words, simply stating a fact. "The fact is this particular package is encrypted beyond anything I've ever seen, that anyone who focuses on cracking Advent code has seen. I can't even begin to guess what's in here." He paused for dramatic effect, "But I know how to find out."

"He's got a plan, Central. Whatever this information is, if the jabbers think it's so important we need it." Jane wasn't pleading but it was clear she had a hunch related to the file.

"We came all this way, we can hear him out." Bradford's tone made it clear he was ready to walk if he didn't like what he heard.

_And I doubt I'm going to._

"If I had an open Advent network, or even a vulnerable one, I could crack it upload this file and run the Advent decryption software within their own network. Then it'd be a simple manner to grab the files back off the network." Toby clapped his hands together, "Easy-peasy lemon-squeezy."

"You can get files off the network?" Jan Peters inquired with some surprise, "We don't have a lot of people with that kind of capability…" He wasn't hiding his skepticism.

"That's how I managed to get this file in the first place." Toby stated proudly, "Via a security tower that was damaged in an attack by a resistance group. The programming weakened enough for me to bust through the firewall and grab everything I could download. People need the truth, especially with Advent trying to kill the 'net. Pretty soon we won't be able to find the truth anywhere."

"So you need an open connection. We don't have one of those." Bradford was intrigued by the possibility of acquiring whatever data was inside the files. With Kelly vouching for Sparky's abilities that gave the young hacker credibility in Bradford's eyes, yet no amount of vouching would be able to solve that one simple problem. They didn't have that network connection, and no way to open one.

"That's where my plan comes in." Sparky smiled. "One file I did manage to decrypt was the network schedule for the Advent prison trains. Times, departure locations and destinations, manifests, records, the whole deal; that's actually what I was after in the first place." He admitted this sheepishly, glancing down at the rickety table.

"And all Advent trains have a network terminal on them, somewhere along a middle car. They need them to sort route data." Jane jumped in, expanding on what Toby had implied, "If we hit one of these trains we can kill the crew and Toby does his thing before the failsafe severs the connection to the Advent network. We'd have the time."

Bradford leaned back in his chair, finishing the moonshine more out of obligation than enjoyment. Putting down the filthy glass and wondering morbidly just how many fresh bacteria were now enjoying their new home, Bradford asked, "You think we should hit an Advent prison train?" When he said it aloud it sounded crazy, yet XCOM had survived this long because occasionally it did something crazy.

"They wouldn't expect it," Dutchie admitted, "No one ever risks attacking one of those trains, they're decently guarded and move on a constantly rotating schedule."

"Which means they wouldn't think we're going too, so they wouldn't be ready for us," Jane finished, seeming rather pleased with the possibility.

Bradford looked at the data, he looked at Banshee and Dutchie, trying to feel his veteran's attitudes in all this. Toby seemed capable enough, and the chance to crack this high-level Advent data was too good to pass up. "I can't believe I'm say this, but yes, let's do it."

"We're going hit a train?" Jan could hardly contain his excitement. An attack on a prison train was a real statement, XCOM was far from dead.

"Find us a soft target," Bradford added quickly, "Low guard count, few prisoners, easy. We don't want to lose everything on a bad mission." He felt good, back in control. He was planning to take the fight to the invaders, not simply reacting like he'd been doing for years. Now XCOM was on the offensive.

"There's one wrinkle in that plan," Sparky stated with utmost determination. Jane's expression made it clear her civilian contact hadn't mentioned any such wrinkle before. "We have to hit a specific prisoner transport, at a specific time, to release a specific prisoner."

"You said this was a data recovery op, not prison break," Bradford's tone took on a dangerously low volume, while leaning in menacingly.

"It's both." Sparky glanced down at his datapad, "I'm alive today, and in possession of this data, because of someone. Someone I promised I'd get out."

"Explain." Bradford wasn't in the business of working with liars.

"Early on, when I was living in New Toronto, I wasn't convinced of it." Toby's age made it clear he had no recollection of pre-war life, the gleam of the city centers was all he'd known. "This whole alien messiah thing? It seemed fishy so I started digging." He shook his head, "I wasn't sure what I was going to find, but before I could discovery anything much, peacekeepers were at my door and I was hauled off on a couple charges, espionage being the kindest."

"They take you to Advent maximum facility prisons for that. People don't come back from those places." Jan Peters spoke with the cold certainty of a man who knows from experience. Certainly enough resistance fighters, political figures and alien opponents had ended up in one of those facilities to make their legendary reputation warranted.

"Yeah, I know. Look at me," he gestured to his lanky frame, "I wouldn't have lasted ten seconds in a place like that. And I'm sure plenty of killers were given incentives from our glorious leaders to make sure of it."

"But you survived."

"Because I had help." Toby looked down, "It's complicated. This guy Alex Cooper, he's not a good man, not even close. A murderer, a psycho, killed a ton of people."

"I remember Cooper. Some things even Advent propaganda can't clean up." Bradford vaguely remembered the details, Cooper had killed roughly twelve or so people with a knife and was given maximum time in a correctional facility. Central couldn't really keep up with the news but the account was gruesome enough it caught his attention.

"Right, Cooper, he protected me."

"What do you mean, protected?" Bradford enquired with obvious confusion.

"I mean, he took me under his wing and killed the guys who came after me. I wouldn't have made it without him. That's a fact. We became something resembling friends and I swore I'd get him out."

"Madman Cooper, the serial killer?" Unflappable Jan finally seemed stunned by something, "You were what? His pet? His "special friend?""

"As crazy as it sounds, no, nothing like that. We were friends, regular old pals, well, as regular as you can get in a place like that," Sparky stated firmly. "That man protected me when no one else would, so I made him a promise. I would get him out. Besides," he asked looking at Bradford, "Aren't XCOM in the business of looking for killers to fight Advent?" That was true enough, though the implication left a bad taste in Bradford's mouth.

"What are you suggesting?" Kelly asked slowly. "Are you saying we bring Madman Cooper into the fold, giving Advent even more material to smear us with? All for some data we know nothing about?"

"It's two birds one stone!" Sparky interjected, "You get some overwhelmingly critical data and at least one skilled killer who I'm sure will happily fight alongside XCOM. Can you afford to turn anyone away at this point?"

_The Avenger has plenty of extra bunks and a man like Cooper knows a thing or two about killing. Not to mention the data…still…_

"How'd you know we're XCOM?" Jan asked, zeroing in on the young hacker. "You weren't informed of our affiliation."

"Advent files." Sparky admitted rather glibly, "They've got your faces plastered across all of them as POIs, wanted terrorists associated with XCOM radicals. I recognized your faces."

Bradford knew it was time for decisions; once again wishing beyond all hope that the Commander had been there to make the call instead of him. Cooper's train would have decent protection, turrets and soldiers. Then there was the matter of Cooper himself, nothing stopped the man from attacking them once they released him from custody, he'd been plenty eager to spill blood before.

Yet Toby was right, that data could be potentially huge if Advent considered it worthy of their highest protection, a strike on a prison train would be a huge blow against the aliens and if Madman Cooper really could be convinced to join XCOM, something Bradford still wasn't sure he wanted, he'd no doubt be an effective killer. Besides that, the prison train would likely be full of other prisoners, many of whom would likely be resistance fighters or political prisoners and therefore a boon to the XCOM cause.

_We're dying a slow death, this could change everything for us, turn back the clock._

Central Officer John Bradford, a man who'd been through twenty years of hell fighting the aliens that had taken away his home made a decision. Commander Frost was always a gambler; it was time for Bradford to take a page from his book.

"Let's do it." The words were firm, moving from person to person with equal force.

Toby rubbed his hands together gleefully and beaming. "All right!" He tapped his datapad a few more times. "In a few days the train will be passing through the New Mexico wilderness towards the actual county of former Mexico, all data suggests they have a supermaximum containment facility there." Toby's datapad showed a map crisscrossing the deserts of that region. "Honestly, it'll be mostly abandoned, a perfect time to hit the train mid route. Hopefully we'll be able to get in and out before they know what's going on."

_This just might work._

"Well, assuming you can get down there in time, I doubt you'll make it by car…" Toby's tone fell several feet, suddenly realizing the flaw in his otherwise brilliant plan.

Bradford actually smiled. "Don't worry, I've got something for that…"

* * *

**AN: An so we begin! I'm not abandoning Pickman's Muse! Don't worry! But this has been kicking around my laptop for awhile and I thought I'd put it up here and see if it gets any traction or interest. I play a heavily modded XCOM 2 and will reference influential mods in the AN's, in particular I enjoy Allies Unknown and The Liberated reskin for that faction so expect some liberated aliens!**

**Cheers!**


	2. Making Tracks

"_Nothing like finding out where you want to go! That's both literal and figurative of course/ All the best sayings are." Gary "Preacher" Thomas, lunatic zealot and XCOM sympathizer, January 3'd 2031, in what can only generously be labeled "a sermon." _

* * *

**Russia, New Moscow City Center: The Palace of Authority**

Yuri "Moose" Chepurnov had been in the business long enough to know that what President Boris was suggesting was a bad move. Twelve years in Spetsnaz followed by ten as the personal bodyguard to former president Vladimir had given the old moose near perfect combat instincts. Instincts with information occasionally so accurate he might as well have had a built in radar. So when President Boris decided reassuring the Advent citizens of the Russian district, the people under his direct control, that the rumors about a Russian resistance were outright fabrications and any terrorists claiming affiliation to the old government were liars not to be trusted, and that he wanted to spread this assurance from the Palace of Authority balcony, Yuri became concerned.

"Mr. President," the big man rumbled, double-checking the drum was safely locked into his minigun, "I wouldn't recommend you make this speech from the balcony. Plenty of clear shots from nearby windows, even someone on the ground floor with an automatic could get lucky. If you must speak in these troubled times, do so from behind glass or via viewscreen."

"Yuri, Advent will keep me safe!" Boris laughed a great booming laugh clapping the bigger man on the shoulder with a meaty hand, "Advent keeps all its friends safe, and rest assured, we are most certainly friends of Advent."

Boris certainly was a friend of Advent. Former president Vladimir had resisted the idea of surrender until the bitter end but the rest of the Russian government went behind his back and signed the surrender papers. As for Vladimir himself none could say, the disappearance of the disgraced president was not entirely unexpected. With the position of Russian president vacated, Boris, an extremely pro-Advent politician whose popularity skyrocketed with the surrender of Russia to the invaders, graciously took the position.

All this left Yuri with the awkward position of Boris' bodyguard, a job he did out of love for Russia, his birthplace, his everything. Yet every day it seemed more difficult to put on his uniform, such as it was, and go out protecting a man he struggled to believe in. But Moose was tough and devoted to the motherland, nothing could break him, not even himself.

Turning his ballcap backwards the grey-haired Russian sighed once and walked onto the balcony behind Boris.

* * *

**USA, New Mexico Wilderness: Advent Rail network roughly 1500 KM from the boarder **

**Operation: Rolling Thunder**

Thomas "Sparky" Edwards was nervous, his body sweating from a combination of heat and fear. In hindsight bringing a wool toque to the deserts of old New Mexico might not have been the most brilliant decision he ever made.

His equipment was stored in a rucksack, ready to be removed as soon as the train was disabled. Advent's rail line, like all their technology, was sleek and mechanized, lacking the straights of old human railroads. Even so, there were still tracks though they were inhumanly smooth and perfect, gleaming with a brilliance that was certainly not iron. Because it still relied on tracks the impossibly fast train could be stopped. All it would take were some high powered explosives and proper timing. Hopefully none of the prisoners would be too injured in the process but regrettably there was no alternative. If all went well, only the engine itself would be flipped but the nature of the timing was so precise that Sparky got a headache just thinking about the math required for this event.

Crouching between the tracks, laying down the appropriate amount of explosives was an XCOM member Toby hadn't met those few days ago in Jacksonville, or during his flight over on the Skyranger, the small troop transport that delivered XCOM troops wherever they were needed.

The assault rifle was an unfamiliar weight and felt awkward in his hands. He was more used to a pistol or datapad, not a fully loaded rifle. The rest of the troops however seemed more than comfortable with their weapons and handled them with a level of casual familiarity that was impossible to fake. Peters and Kelly were present, each on opposite sides of the tracks, ready to rush the stalled train almost simultaneously.

Standing beside Jan Peters was a young woman whose name Toby hadn't learned. Judging from her accent and the flag on the back of her uniform she was German. Her features were angular, though pleasant, jet black hair cut short to roughly the collarbone. A nose stud glinted in the sunlight, an addition highlighting the beauty of the young woman's nose. The only deviation from standard light combat and Kevlar equipment on her person was the costume gloves that made the hands appear skeletal and an unbuckled World War 1, Kaiser-style German military helmet resting haphazardly upon her head. The shotgun in her hands and sword on her back clearly showed she meant business and wasn't concerned about how close that business was.

The man laying the bomb down along the tracks was cursing mightily with each action, grumbling and growling in a posh British accent that somehow exaggerated the profanities to a comical degree. The smoke from a cigarette clenched between his teeth floated upwards as apparently nobody had told this gentlemen that smoking and explosives weren't a particularly good combination. A ballcap was pulled tight over crew-cut black hair, a shade similar to the pencil thin moustache that covered the demoman's upper lip, the military precision of the hair sharp contrast to the haphazard, slapped together look of the jet-black Advent armor he wore, with hastily spray-painted XCOM sigils above the relevant logos. A minigun rested on the tracks beside him as did a missile tube, liking holding no more than a single rocket.

"Oi! Bulldog! Move your pansy ass! This train'll be up ours in no time!" The forth and final visible member of the XCOM squad shouted in an overly Australian accent, chomping on a cigarette as he spoke. The big man was tall, with reddish complexion and a dark ginger beard covering his chin unaccompanied by any mustache. His clothes were military style and dyed in a variety of camo patterns as was the fold up, leather Outback hat covering his head. His exposed arms were a mass of swirling tattoos, varying types of snakes in bright orange, ending at hands covered in a pair of fingerless gloves. The boots, while apparently military, were made of some other material, evidently snakeskin, a banned substance from what Toby could glean from Advent records. Yet all that paled in comparison to the man's hard features, a windswept face with a nose bent from healing broken and three vicious, claw-like scars that raked their way down, leaving the Australian man's lips twisted upright in a parody of a half-smile were one claw caught the mouth. Like the German woman he was armed with a shotgun and blade, though he wore his upon his hip and it seemed more akin to a machete than the woman's two-handed sword.

"Taylor, bugger off, it'll be done when it's done. You can't rush a man's art," The British explosive expert responded rather curtly, seemingly unafraid of the very real danger that the train would arrive before they were ready.

The headset in Toby's ear crackled to life as John Bradford gave instructions across the channel, "Gator! Bulldog! Stow the chatter, we're on a tight schedule and we need to be laser focused." The voice stopped the fight before it began and both men grit their teeth, buckling down to work.

Toby, for his part simply did nothing but sweat nervously, looking down at the unfamiliar weapon in his hands. The weight, shape and texture were all foreign, even the smell was strange, yet somehow he knew before the day was done, he'd be all too familiar with its function.  
"Done and done!" Bulldog shouted after a moment more of furious work, picking up his minigun and missile tube, scuttling away from the bomb he'd laid out as quickly as possible. Even as he spoke the other XCOM agents were moving towards the shadows of the cliff faces on both sides of the tracks. The valley dipped just enough where they'd planned the ambush that hopefully Advent dropships would require more maneuvering to deploy, enough for them to hit the train, recover the data and prisoners and escape with minimum harm.

Sparky Edwards, for his part, stood beside Bulldog, Banshee Kelly, and Gator, aiming his assault rifle towards the tracks in badly shaking hands. The Australian reached out and gently held the barrel steadying it, "Easy now lad, it won't be as hard as you think. Jabbers fall quickly enough and we'll have 'em by surprise. They don't like that."

He held Toby's weapon still until the Canadian found himself keeping it steady on his own. "Thanks."

"Nah problem mate. Name's Patrick Taylor but folks call me Gator. You?" The man called Gator offered his hand with a smile that seemed genuine unaffected by his lip scar.

"Toby Edwards," the hacker responded, shaking the hand offered with some degree of nervousness.

The voice in his ear crackled again, Bradford was speaking from the emergency command center aboard the Skyranger. "All right people, head's up, the target is inbound in less than five, get in position and get ready. It's about to get loud!"  
Toby closed his eyes and prayed everything worked out with this crazy plan.

* * *

**USA New Mexico, Advent Rail network, exact location unknown.**

He couldn't begin to fathom how long he'd been locked in the dark prison cell. It could have been hours, it could have been weeks. A caged animal has no understanding of time, no fathoming the ticking of the clock, his only concern is to get out and find his freedom, to escape and bloody his teeth once more.

They'd moved prisoner number 6512 from the holding cell in the Western United States supermax prison and placed him aboard this train, blindfolded and drugged, gagged and bound. If they'd come at him honestly in the yard he'd have taken a few with him, but the alien puppets were nothing but cowards and found it easier to drug his food.

Alex Cooper didn't blame the aliens' pet Advent, he'd have drugged him too rather than get within shiv range. Enough of his fellow prisoners had learned that lesson the hard way. Advent was watching, it was always watching. They had seen him in the yard and in the block. They didn't want to waste lives moving him, yet, for whatever purpose, felt the need to do so. They wanted the Madman moved, so drugs it was.

One moment he was eating the same slop he'd always been fed, the next he awoke on a train car in a darkened cell, legs split and clamped to the floor, arms trapped and chained to the ceiling, he was an immobile X, unable to move in the slightest. Gradually his eyes ever so slowly adjusted to the darkened train car and he saw its emptiness, not even a chair to sit in. Nothing but a small table holding his few earthly possessions, close enough to see and taunt him, far enough away that he could do nothing to reach them, not utterly bound as he was.

They were two small items, though both infinitely important to Alex. The first was his knife, simple, razor-edged, and used both on himself and on those he liberated. The second, the item of his liberation, the mask he wore. An antique hockey mask, black, with a single white skull painted across it, representing freedom from the lies of smiles and false emotions.

He'd been stripped down to shoes and cargo shorts for the transfer, leaving him vulnerable and exposed. Yet were he free things would be different, were he free he'd carve his way out of this prison and escape into the wilderness. But he was not free, and the armored soldier standing between him and his things was an even more obvious sign of that than the bars holding him in place.

The Advent soldier wore armor of pure white, a stark contrast to the black and red armored soldiers and officers he more typically saw around the prison. His helmet was more ornamental than those of the other Advent troopers and he was unusually soft spoken. The Priest, as he called himself, seemed to move with an air of power that radiated around him, a power more than physical, seemingly spiritual in nature.

Alex despised him.

"Tell me, Mr. Cooper, why did you kill those nineteen people? And so barbarically at that?" His words were stilted, as if he didn't fully understand or feel comfortable with the English language. Yet he appeared perfectly calm. Still, his posture and body-language were not quite human. Alex honestly doubted if the Priest was human, but he doubted that about plenty of people.

"I meant to set them free." The words fell from his lips as they always did, blunt and uncaring. This agent of the false powers was only there to lie to him, trick him, lead him off the chosen path. He cared nothing for this Priest nor his "Gods."

"As you set yourself free?" The Priest moved behind Alex, the prisoner feeling the interrogator's eyes burning across the scar he'd made in the back of his head. The chip had to be dug out; he had to be free of the Advent influence, the Advent message.

"Yes. I was free, they'll be free." Alex maintained his stoic silence, letting that answer be enough for the Advent interrogator. He felt the whisper in the back of his head, that faint suggestion that somehow someone was moving inside his mind, planting thoughts not his own. This new voice challenging the old voices, new voice growing stronger in the Priest's prescience, as if somehow it was being fed by outside forces.

"You felt that forcefully cutting them open and digging out chips implanted only for their benefit would help them?" There was a remarkable lack of judgment in the Priest's tone, a simple factual inquiry that suggested legitimate curiosity.

"Worked for me."

"Yes it did." The Priest mused, moving away from the bound Alex Cooper. After a moment, he spoke again, "You're a unique individual, Mister Cooper, and the Elders want to speak with you. That's why we're traveling across the rails, to meet with them."

"I want to kill you." Alex said bluntly, "That's why you tied me up."

The Priest chuckled, "Quite." He waved an armored hand. "However, that threat means no more to me than the ones uttered by most other prisoners aboard this train. You will arrive on schedule, you will meet with the Elders and you will submit to their will, as all eventually do. This ride, Mister Cooper, is likely to be your last."

"We'll just see about that," he snarled, straining against his restraints, "We'll see how you like it when I wrap my hands around your throat!"

"Unlikely."

* * *

**USA, New Mexico Wilderness: Advent Rail network roughly 1500 KM from the boarder **

The train moved ever closer to the ambush, running silently despite its great speed. The Advent technology that powered it produced no smoke, no obvious sign of fuel. Likely some sort of Elyerium generator, the mysterious energy source the Aliens used for most technology.

Lewis "Bulldog" Samuels crouched low, detonator in hand, eyes narrowing as he waited for the exact moment to trigger the explosion. Gator stayed low as, across the track, Dutchie and the German did the same. Toby felt a surreal sense of calm as he waited for destiny to arrive. "Any moment now, Strike One," Bradford's voice whispered in the headset. "Just a few moments more."

Bulldog watched the train rush towards them, moving at incredible speed, almost a blur against the desert landscape. He waited waited and waited some more. Yet the waiting was worth it because, without fanfare, he hit the button, detonating the explosives directly beneath the locomotive. The explosion was remarkably muffled, far more than Toby expected, yet the effect was immediate.

The train leapt the track, screaming as it derailed in a spray of sand and metal. Several smaller explosions followed the first as individual fuel and power tanks blew from the heat of the ensuring fire, further damaging the fallen Advent vehicle.

Toby rose to rush the train before a firm hand grabbed him. Patrick Taylor pulled him down sharply, "Wait a minute!"

The central car of the train hissed as an Advent superheavy turret rose from the wreck, scanning the immediate area for the source of its recent trouble.

"You might want to cover your ears." The British voice beside Sparky was the last thing he heard before the rocket flew out of the missile tube. The hacker hadn't been paying attention to the heavy, who'd taken the time to prepare his missile launcher, aim at the turret and fire. The rocket struck true and tore the turret free in a shower of fire and sparks.

Toby watched intently with the rifle in hand, wanting both to move and remain frozen. The fire licked the sky as the chattering screams of Advent peacekeepers could be heard within. The first armored trooper staggered free from the wreckage in a daze, his magnetic rifle hung loosely between open fingers. Sparky hesitated but Gator didn't, firing his shotgun towards the dazed soldier. The shell punched through the trooper, dropping him in a spray of orange blood.

Bradford's voice cracked in his ear again, "Alright, move on the train. Be careful, there's bound to be plenty of survivors."

"Right then!" Taylor chuckled, spitting out his cigarette and pumping his shotgun, "Let's go hunting."

As the XCOM forces approached from both sides, several doors along the train opened, revealing Advent troopers determined to make a fight of it. The bark of the magnetic rifles spat rounds towards the oncoming XCOM agents. Sparky fired back with little success. He managed to miss the entire car, sending the bullets into the mountains and earning himself a serious bruise on his shoulder as kickback responded.

Gator and Banshee fired their shotguns eagerly towards the troopers, dropping two of them as Bulldog's minigun seemed to wound several others while driving the rest back behind cover. They were close now, Sparky somehow keeping pace with the rest even as his assault rifle jammed. At the exact moment his panicked brain realized how bad it was to have a useless weapon in the midst of combat, he saw the red-armored officer leading the troopers aim at him.

The shot was like a distant thunder, booming out across the canyon. The officer fell back, clutching his neck in a desperate last attempt to stop the flow of blood.

_So XCOM has sniper support. That's good to know._

The final visible trooper fell to a well-placed shell from the lady German and the exterior fell silent. The team reached the ruins of the train, near the third car, and Toby realized just how hot the flames were. While several cars remained upright and intact the locomotive and lead car behind it had been pulverized by the ambush, twisted husks of metal. A few bodies lay scattered about, thrown from the train and killed on impact, all appeared to be exclusively Advent. As Gator Taylor drew his machete and clambered into the train, Sparky began praying that the terminal he needed would still be active.

* * *

**USA New Mexico, Advent Rail network, exact location unknown.**

The Priest had leaned in close, reaching out towards Alex with the twisting tendrils of his mind, desperate to learn the Madman's secrets. He fought hard, threw up the barriers in his mind, trying desperately to keep the thing he despised at bay and out of his private thoughts. Cooper was strong but the Priest was stronger and Madman could feel his control slipping.

Until the explosion.

The car shook violently and the Priest tumbled to the ground, severing the mental link. Alex's body was wrenched against the restraints, sending extreme pain throughout his limbs as the snapped against the bonds. Yet that pain told him he was alive and renewed his determination to fight against the alien domination. He tasted copper and realized that, in all the excitement he'd bit his tongue.

The Priest picked himself off the floor with something resembling panic; reading these so-called peacekeepers was easier than most realized. Alex strained against the bonds but they held tight. He heard gunshots and magnetic rounds and knew someone was attacking. He longed to join the fight but alas, he remained bound.

Another trooper, black armor, ran into the interrogation car, chittering away in that ridiculous language. Cooper didn't know what was said, as the Priest returned the chittering in kind, but he assumed it had to do with the attack and the prisoners. The trooper rushed out, magnetic rifle in her hands as the Priest turned back to Alex. "Don't you go anywhere now."

Madman was still straining against his bonds as Advent began executing the other prisoners.

* * *

**USA New Mexico, Advent Rail network, exact location unknown.**

Patrick "Gator" Taylor didn't like the indoors, he didn't like trains and he didn't like Advent. It was a regular sandwich of suck, indoors, aboard an Advent train, but the mission came first and he was, after all, a professional. Immediately upon entering, an Advent trooper appeared from behind a bulkhead and aimed his magnetic rifle at Gator. But the trooper as too slow and Taylor took his head off with a quick blow from his machete. A second trooper came in from one of the others cars but Jane Kelly's sawed-off made short work of him.

Silence descended over the car for a moment as Gator took stock. "That blinking thing over there?" He gestured towards said blinking thing with his bloody machete, "Is that the terminal?"

Sparky took off his aviators and squinted. Taylor noted his eyes were blue. "Yeah, yeah it is."

"Get to work." Gator's orders were followed without question by Sparky. Technically Jan Peters was in charge at the field level but he and Gertrude were in another part of the train, so Sparky could answer to him.

The hacker dropped his rifle and fished his datapad out of the bag. "This will take a bit of time…"

Bradford's voice cut in, "The Advent network is going to close any minute, time is something we don't have much of so get to it!"

Sparky took a step towards the terminal before he heard the magnetic shot and the cry of agony that followed. He froze, unsure what was happening.

"That wasn't Icepick or Dutchie," Bulldog pointed out helpfully before a second shot and another cry. Gator watched Toby's expression falter as he stepped away from the terminal. "They're killing the prisoners! I have to save Cooper!" His loyalty to his psychotic friend was admirable but the mission came first, every XCOM agent knew that.

"You stay put and hack that damn computer or I'll hack your damn hands off!" Taylor ordered sharply, "Banshee, stay with him, keep him safe and working." He turned to his British heavy, "Bulldog, you come with me, we'll stop Advent from killing any more people."

Before Sparky could protest, Jane had given him a nudge towards the access point and reloaded her sawed off. "Nothing's getting by me." When Banshee Kelly made that promise she kept it.

Giving a nod, Gator stated, "We'll be back, keep your eyes open for the others, they'll be making their way over here soon enough." Taylor tapped Bulldog on the shoulder, ensuring that he followed, the two men approached the nearest car door, took either side of it and then, with a nod, Gator Taylor flung it open. Before the Australian had the chance to look inside, Lewis "Bulldog" Samuels had fired several dozen rounds from his minigun down the hallway. Gator peaked his head around to see a pair of Advent corpses, laying dead in a pool of their own orange blood. The car was a row of cells, all of which were occupied. Unfortunately the first four prisoners had already been executed.

"Get us out of here!" A man yelled from across the aisle at the XCOM operatives. Despite the rather plain features and unremarkable brown hair he looked vaguely familiar.

The familiar-looking man was drowned out by the wailing of another man, this one pale and pudgy, likely a political type. "I didn't mean what I said!" He howled, "Get me out of this cage! Please don't hurt me!" He actually sank to his knees and began pleading, holding both hands in front of him surrender.

"We aren't here to hurt you," Lewis' words were crisp and simple, "We're here to get you out." The Brit turned to one of the cells and bashed the butt of his minigun against the control panel. The force field failed and the man blubbering within unceremoniously fell to the floor.

"You can take your chances in the wilderness or let us take you back to our base," Gator further explained, "Nobody's going to force you to do either but we do need you to make up your minds in the next few minutes." He followed up his instructions by putting a shotgun shell into the nearby control panel and releasing the remainder of the prisoners within the car.

Bulldog was halfway to the other side of the car when the far door slid open. The Advent trooper rushed in, jabbering and pointed her magnetic rifle just like they all seemed to do. Yet something unusual happened with this one, something bad.

Lewis "Bulldog" Samuels sent a wave of minigun fire towards the trooper, more than enough to shred the average Advent goon but the trooper didn't go down. The minigun's burst seemed to disappear into nothing.

It wasn't until the trooper's rifle was up that Gator noticed the purple aura that surrounded her. The psonic energy shielded the trooper like a suit of armor and, much to Bulldog's shock, deflected his otherwise devastating swarm of bullets away. The Brit stared in abject dismay for just a second, but a second was all it took. The sounds of the magnetic rifle echoed in the train car as several rounds punched through Bulldog's chest with gory abandon. The cigarette fell from the heavy's lips even as his body struck the ground.

"Lewis! No! You stupid bastard!" Gator Taylor roared in agony as his friend died before his eyes. He raised his shotgun and fired. The psionic projection that had previously surrounded the trooper must have collapsed because this shot had an effect, blowing the head clean from the trooper's shoulders.

He dropped next to Bulldog in an attempt to stop the bleeding but it didn't matter, Lewis was gone. Gator clenched his teeth and buried his grief. The mission was not yet over, there would be time for mourning later.

He looked up and saw the Priest standing in the hallway, his psionic amplifier already in hand. "You'll join him soon enough," the Priest warbled in broken English.

Before either XCOM or Advent could react, a razor-edged blade came slicing down from behind the Priest. The blade went clean through the Priest's elbow at the joint, slicing the forearm off. Before he could scream the back slash from the same sword took his head off.

Gertrude "Icepick" Hahn stood in the doorway, a blood sword in her hands. She took one look at Bulldog's corpse and her eyes watered "Scheisse!" She swore, wiping her eyes with the back of a bloody hand, leaving red streaks across her pale cheeks.

"He won't be the last," Gator murmured, knowing full well Gertrude wasn't and never should have been a soldier, shouldn't have had to watch friends die, but that was the world they lived in.

"Where's Peters?" He asked grimly, almost afraid of the answer. He looked down at Bulldog and sighed again. Removing the packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, Gator placed them on the dead man's breast.

"Dutchie?" She responded after a moments pause, "He's checking the last car, seems like we're in the clear. Central isn't picking up any more local call signs but Advent dropships are closing in fast."

"That settles it." Gator turned to the gathered prisoners, "Alright, time to make up your minds, you coming with us or wandering off into the desert?"

They decided to come along.

* * *

**USA New Mexico, Advent Rail network, exact location unknown.**

Cooper heard the gunshots, heard the slicing of blades and tasted blood in the air. He strained all the harder against his bonds, trying desperately to regain and rejoin the fight. His knife, his mask, they called out to him, begged for a release. Yet he was bound tight, unable to move at all, despite the power the pain gave him. He could not break free.

When the door to his cell opened, Madman Cooper expected to see the Priest return, his crisp white armor stained red with blood. Yet the man in the doorway was not the Priest but rather some sort of paramilitary figure. He was a haggard, older man, his hair cut short, with scarred features and a prominent eyepatch. The shotgun in his hand stank of gunsmoke and the sword on his back had been used.

"Are you Alex Cooper?" He asked, in a voice like thumbtacs and coffee. The accent was subtle but present.

"Yeah, who's asking?" The gruff front had returned, this man wasn't Advent but his loyalties were unknown.

"My name's Jan, Jan Peters. I'm with an organization that doesn't like the aliens very much. A mutual friend told us where to find you."

That peaked his curiosity, he didn't have many friends and someone who claimed to know someone he considered such was worth meeting. "Who is this, mutual friend we share?"

"You know a scrawny Canuck named Toby? Calls himself Sparky?" Jan asked with the subtle intonation that suggested he already knew the answer and merely wanted confirmation of said answer.

"I do know that name." Alex Cooper actually smiled, despite the pain in his body and the fire in his mind, he actually smiled. "I thought I'd never see that man again."

"He cooked this operation up, just to get you out of here, the kid feels like he owes you."

Alex grinned again. "He certainly does."

"He says you're a killer."

"He's correct."

There was a long pause. The comments Alex made hung in the air, unapologized for and very real. Alex knew what he was.

Jan Peters drew closer, moving towards the first lock that kept Madman Cooper bound. "I'm here to offer you work killing aliens."

"It's work for which I'm well suited." As he gazed upon his mask and knife he knew, this was the purpose for which he'd been born, for which the cosmos had lovingly crafted him, he was happy to be of use. His actions were set regardless in stone regardless of his attitude, so why not use them.

"Who would I be killing the aliens for?" Not that it much mattered.

As Jan undid the first bolt, allowing blood to mercifully return to Alex's bruised right arm, he said simply, "Are you familiar with the XCOM project?"

* * *

**AN: And so the first mission is a success. What are the files? How does this all tie in? Answers will be forthcoming.**

**Expanding on the topic of the Liberated, do you want me to stick purely with XCOM aliens or would you like me to tap into some of the aliens from the allies unknown mod? If so would you want me to leave those aliens as they are or tweak them a bit into something that avoids cross-over territory? Thanks for the opinions!**


End file.
